As One
by Satanira
Summary: A sad little fic. Double homocide-suicide. Angsty, with implied yaoi romance. Title sucks. Update- Chapter 4 up. DISCONTINUED!
1. Death

This took me about six or seven minutes to write. It's one of my best works as far as I'm concerned, though.  
  
It's short, dark, and a little disturbing. Warnings are: violence, yaoi, and language.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The tears won't stop. No matter how hard he tries, they just keep coming. He's supposed to be emotionless; he's the perfect soldier. Not human. Not alive. Unable to feel. So why is he crying?  
He's crying because there isn't supposed to be red there. There's only supposed to be purple cotton. Those pale white hands aren't supposed to be covered in blood. The soft little angel on the floor at his feet isn't supposed to be dying.  
And she's laughing. The bitch that killed his angel is laughing, as his love lies slowly bleeding to death by her hand.  
"You bitch." He whispers, his clenched fists shaking, his eyes shut tight against the horrible sight before him. "You bitch." He repeats, louder, opening his pain-filled eyes to glare at the brunette woman. "Why?" He demands.  
"You're mine." She says, her voice shaking as much as the gun in her hands. "You're mine, and that queer slut will never take you away from me. I'm the queen of the world, dammit! Some little faggot doesn't have the right to contest my claim!"  
"Shut up!" He screams, pulling his own gun on her. But his hands shake too much to aim. "Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch! I'm not yours! I don't belong to you! I never have!" His whole body begins to shake, and his knees give out on him. He falls with a barely audible splash in the growing pool of blood. "Why can't you understand?" He asks softly, resting his forehead on his hands.  
"I do understand." She answers, dropping her gun. "I know he seduced you, love. Don't worry. I don't think any less of you. I can teach you the truth; I can purge you of all that whore's lies, if you'll only let me." Her voice still shakes, but not nearly as much.  
He slowly raises his head to stare at her, poisonous hatred burning in the depths of his eyes. His gun levels at her heart of its own accord, and his finger pulls back slightly on the trigger.  
"No." She says, as if denying what his eyes state plainly. "You won't shoot me. You love me, don't you? You love me." For once in her pampered life, she sounds unsure. She is afraid, he can see. Afraid that he doesn't love her, that he will shoot her. Afraid of the truth.  
"Three bodies." He says coldly, ignoring for the moment his lover's warm blood and his own scalding tears. "When they come, there will be three bodies."  
"No." She says again, her voice and body shaking violently once more. "No, dearest!"  
She cannot plead for her life now; not after what she has done.  
"Die with innocent blood on your soul, you self-centered bitch." He says angrily, pulling the trigger. "Know that I never loved you." He adds as her eyes fill with tears.  
Her mouth works, opening and closing in the shape of his name, but no sound emerges. She falls to her knees, than her hands, then suddenly jerks back as the sound of a third shot fills the room, and another bullet buries itself in her flesh. She slumps against the door, a small hole in her chest and another marring the center of her perfect forehead.  
"Forgive me, Lord." He whispers, glad of the distance between the bodies. Her tainted blood will not mix with either man's. "I have sinned; condemn me where you will. But please, Lord, let me see him one last time before you banish me. Amen." The last is an afterthought, a reflex. His mind has ceased thinking as his free hand takes the pale, familiar, well- loved frailty by his knee into its warm, shaking embrace.  
Wordlessly, he raises the cool steel of the gun barrel to his temple. Closing his eyes, he pulls the trigger, one last time, taking a final life; his own.  
The Perfect Soldier and the Arabian Angel breathe their last breaths as one.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
God gods, I'm in a dark mood today. Please review and tell me what you think. 


	2. God

Out of the dark mood, and wanting to expand on this story while I get my mind off The Ties That Bind.  
  
To Patricia16 Thank you. You've inspired me to take this one-shot and make it into something more.  
  
To Raizard333 Thanks for the suggestion, but 'As One' has kind of grown on me. I even wrote a poem that I might post.  
  
To Rae chan1 I'm very into odd pairings, as my profile says. I think I'll write a 4x5 story next. And the mood's gonna lighten up soon, so dry your tears. Here. offers a hankie  
  
To Jasynthe Yeah, them dying together was kind of the point.  
  
I stand in a vast nothingness of gray fog. There is no sound, no movement except my own. I am alone here.  
I shiver, although the fog is not cold. I don't like being alone. I haven't been alone since Heero first said he loves me. Or would it be loved? I'm pretty sure I'm dead. After all, I was shot.  
Relena. Relena shot me. She and I always got along. I thought we were friends. I guess we weren't.  
And Heero. Heero shot Relena for shooting me. Then he...I think he shot himself. I hope he didn't.  
"Quatre?"  
I turn quickly, recognizing that voice. "Heero?" I answer, unable to see through the fog. Then...there. A dark light close by, moving through the fog. "Heero!" I repeat loudly, moving towards the light.  
"Quatre!" It's definitely Heero's voice; I can hear the undercurrent of panic that used to be there during the war.  
The light becomes clearer, taking on a forest green cast. I myself, I realize in the back of my mind, am glowing pale blue.  
"Heero!" I can see him now, his aura burning away the fog around him. Heero always was powerful, in presence, body, and mind.  
"Quatre!" Without even seeing him, I know he is crying, not from sorrow, but from relief. We have found each other, inseparable even in death.  
I feel his strong arms around me once more, and bury my face in his chest. We stand locked together, exactly like the day Wufei left me for Trowa, not speaking. We have no need for words yet.  
"Children." A soft, powerful presence intrudes on this perfect moment. I think of ignoring it, but can't. So I pull my face from Heero's chest, although my arms stay firmly around his waist.  
"Lord." Heero says gravely, facing the fog around us. "Thank you."  
"No thanks are needed, Child." The voice answers. "Your last wish has been granted. I fear it is time for you to leave."  
Leave? Why should Heero leave? Or does he mean both of us? I'm not sure.  
"Go back to the Land of the Living, Young Child." And now I feel that the voice is speaking to me.  
"W-what?"  
"Your body still lives, although I have brought your soul to My domain, that this warrior's last wish be fulfilled. You must go now, or your body's life may be lost."  
I tighten my grip on Heero. I'm not giving him up. Three months isn't long enough, dammit! If I have to defy Allah to be with him, then I will!  
"Quatre..."  
"I'm not loosing you now, dammit!" I yell, burying my face in his shirt again. "I haven't had you this long to give you up just because God says to!"  
"You feel so strongly, Gentle One?"  
"Yes."  
"Strongly enough to die for this man?"  
"Yes."  
"And you, Warrior, do you feel the same?"  
"Yes." Heero answers, his arms tightening around my shoulders. "I'm only here because I thought I'd lost him."  
"I see." The voice sounds amused and satisfied, as if He expected us to answer like that. "Perhaps an arrangement can be made."  
Silence reigns in this foggy world once again, although the voice's presence hasn't moved.  
"You found each other once; would you do so again?"  
Heero does not answer, and I look up at his face to find my bold lover glaring at his Lord!  
"I'll take that for a yes." The voice is definitely amused. "Then go, Young Children, and find love once again."  
A bright flash of light surrounds us, and I feel Heero kiss my forehead one last time before we are separated, to grow and find each other once again.  
  
I think Chibi Hiroyuki's making up for that non-yaoi-centric story he made me write...  
  
Review, please! 


	3. Rebirth

To make things clear from here on out, Quatre was reborn as Quatre Micheal Adams, and Heero was reborn as Ookami Heero. Quatre was named after his uncle, who died the day before he was born. Heero was named after the great pacifist leader (again). Quatre is from the L1 colony cluster, Heero is from Earth.

Quatre Micheal Adams, known to his friends as 'Q,' sighed heavily, staring out the window next to him.

"Bored, Q?" The student next to him, a pretty senior named Milfey, asked, bopping Quatre with her notebook. "Or do you really find space that interesting?"

"Bored." Quatre replied, sighing again. "I mean, sure, Earth is an exciting place to go these days, but the trip there is only barely worth it. I wish I'd thought to bring my sketch pad."

"Yeah, then you'd finally be able to do that picture you promised me." Milfey laughed, settling back into her seat. "Y'know, the one of that guy you've been dreaming about?"

"Dreams, my ass." Quatre snorted. "Those are nightmares, considering everything that happens in them. And will you quit that?"

Milfey obediently stopped fiddling with Quatre's hair, but not without a fight. "But it's so pretty!" She complained. "It just about the only mess of truly copper-colored hair I've ever seen, and it's got blonde highlights, like your mom's hair!"

"You're obsessed with hair." Quatre muttered. "Besides, we need to get our stuff together. We're almost there."

The privileged students of Winner Private Academy filed quietly through the gates of the spaceport to the shuttles. Most were half-asleep as the climbed into their assigned rides. Quatre and Milfey parted ways at shuttle C. Milfey's shuttle was F, and hadn't arrived yet.

Plopping down in one of the cushioned seats, Quatre pulled out his sketchpad, a graphite stick, and a soft white eraser and set to work drawing.

Just like my weird self to start dreaming about a war right before we learn about the real one. He thought to himself. There's got to be something seriously wrong with my brain to come up with stuff like this.

Looking down, he realized he'd been drawing a scene from his most recent nightmare. The view was from a cockpit of some sort, looking out at the remnants of a battle in space. Pieces of ships and mobile suits were scattered all over the place, and a mobile suit with a scythe and bat wings floated off to one side, the cockpit open and empty.

Whatever happened to the dreams of flying? He wondered as the shuttle moved smoothly into the docking area at the hotel where he and his classmates would be staying. Why do I of all people have to start dreaming about battles?

Ookami Heero wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of one dirty forearm, leaning against the low stone wall he was supposed to be tearing down.

"Hey, Ookami!" Heero's foreman yelled, waving to get his attention. "We've got another batch of students coming through! For God's sake, don't threaten any of these!"

"He was askin' for it!" Heero yelled back, lifting his sledgehammer and swinging it at the wall. "If he'd a kept his hands to himself, I would've left him alone!"

"Well, these are from Winner Private Academy, and I'd really rather not have the best lawyers in known space suing us, okay?"

"Alright! I get the point! Sheesh." Heero continued to grumble to himself as the students walked past him, heading for the giant museum on the other side of the tunnel. Most stared at him, probably wondering how old he was. Heero hated how young he looked. At fourteen, he could still pass for ten, if he kept his muscles covered.

"What the-" One of the students had pushed another off the walkway, right in the path of a steam roller.

Even if the driver saw the kid, they'd never be able to stop in time. Momentum would keep the machine going until long after the kid had been crushed.

"Fuck!" Heero cursed.

He vaulted the low wall and shoved his way past students, his eyes never leaving the giant steam roller. He jumped down next to the student, who hadn't moved an inch, grabbed him, and hauled him out of the way just as the steam roller passed by.

"Hey, kid, you all right?" He asked as the other students crowded around him and his burden. "Answer me, kid."

The only answer he got was a weak groan.

Heero spotted the pusher, and his eyes took on what his coworkers affectionately called his 'Glare of Death.' "You." He snapped, pointing at the boy. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing, pushing people around in a dangerous place like this? If this kid had died, you'd be held responsible! You really want something like that hanging over your head for the rest of your life?"

"I...I didn't..." The boy stammered, obviously unused to being held accountable for his actions.

"Ookami, what's going on?" The foreman demanded, working his way through the crowd. "What's up with that Olympic sprint of yours?"

"I think the kid needs a doctor." Heero said, ignoring his boss for the moment. "Someone wanna give me this kid's name?"

"Quatre." A girl with short brown hair supplied. "Quatre Adams. And the idiot who pushed him is Jack Riversphere. Feel free to kick his ass."

"M-Milfey..." Quatre muttered, his eyes opening. "He cannot kick Jack's ass, as you so eloquently put it."

"Glad to see you're awake, kid." Heero said. "Think you can stand?"

"I hope so." Quatre replied grimly. "Because I'm the one who's going to kill Jack."

"H-hey, Q." Jack stammered, backing up a pace or two. "I-it was an accident, man! An accident! You know I'd never do that on purpose!"

Heero, seeing that Quatre was indeed bent on killing the other boy, rolled his eyes and stepped between the two, sighing.

"First off, I don't think a person stupid enough to try killing someone in a place like this exists." He stated, glaring at Jack before switching his focus to Quatre. "And you won't be going anywhere but to a bed. From what I can tell, you cracked you head good, and you shouldn't even be standing right now. Got me?"

"Who are you?" Quatre asked, blinking violently. "And just how old are you?"

Heero had to close his eyes and count slowly backwards from ten to keep from punching the boy.

"My name is Heero. I'm fourteen. And you're coming with me. Boss, get the rest of these kids out of here and get ahold of this one's parents, will ya?"

"You're the medic." The foreman said, shrugging as he herded the other students towards their destination and began questioning Milfey about Quatre's parents.

Quatre sat heavily down on the small cot taking up one wall of the narrow room, grateful for its support. He didn't know if he could have walked another step without collapsing.

"You should feel a killer headache by now." The worker named Heero said softly, rummaging through one of the boxes on the floor. "My advice is to keep your eyes open until we know for sure if you've got a concussion or not."

"Okay..." Quatre replied faintly, leaning against the wall and watching the other boy. He said he was fourteen, but he sure as hell didn't act like it. "Thanks." He added, realizing he hadn't thanked Heero for saving him yet.

"Don't mention it." The brunette handed Quatre two pills and a small glass of water. "Swallow these quick; they'll help with your head, but they taste disgusting."

Quatre did as he was told, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. Almost immediately, his pounding headache dwindled to nearly nothing.

"Lean forward." Heero instructed. "I can't check your head if you're leaning against the wall like that."

Quatre did as he was told, and sat absolutely still while Heero checked him over. "Do you live here?"

"Yup. Looks like you'll live. No sign of a concussion, anyway."

"Alone?"

"Who else can a poor orphan live with? Now don't ask so many questions. It's safe to lie down and get some sleep. I'll wake you up when someone comes to get you, okay?"

"Okay..." Quatre replied, more than willing to take Heero's advice.

Heero sat cross-legged on the carpet opposite the door to his little home, watching the door with half an eye. The other eye and a half were watching the kid in his bed, who reminded him of someone, and who also happened to have a very coppery mess of slightly wavy hair.

Heero had never seen hair that color before, and it intrigued him. So did the air about the boy. He had a kind, trusting quality, kind of like a puppy. But, also like a puppy, Heero got the feeling the shorter boy would rip your throat out if you messed with his friends.

What's that they say about cornered rabbits? He thought, smiling to himself. And if he's a rabbit, what does that make me? A Vegan wolf? He couldn't help but chuckle at the image of a grazing wolf that thought conjured up.

The boy started awake with a sort of choked off half-scream, breaking into Heero's thoughts. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the bed.

"You okay, kid?" He asked, irrationally concerned about him.

"Y-yeah..." Quatre said, not sounding okay in the least. "Just another nightmare, is all." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Did you bring my bag?"

"Yeah." Heero said, pointing at the dark blue shoulder bag near the door. "Why? Yo need medicine or something out of it?"

"No, nothing that important." Quatre said, shaking his head. "I just need to draw something real quick."

Heero stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and retrieved the bag, handing it to his guest, who pulled out a sketchpad, a graphite stick, and an eraser and fell to drawing.

After a minute or two, her put down his tools with a sigh. "Finished." He said, flipping the sketchbook around so Heero could see. For an instant, he thought it was him laid out in neat, even lines on the thick white paper.

Then he began to see the differences. First, there was the age. The picture was of a man in his teens that looked older, not a fourteen-year-old who looked years younger than he was. The man's hair was shorter than his, and he was dressed in spandex shorts and a loose tank top. He had one hand extended in front of him, holding something long and thin with a button on the visible end. His face was resigned and determined at the same time.

"He looks a lot like you." Quatre mused, staring intently at his artwork. "A little older, sure, but he could be your older brother." Then he sighed, shaking his head. "Stupid dreams." He muttered.

That clicked it. Take out the slight wave in his hair and make it pale blond, and Quatre became the boy Heero himself had dreamed of for nearly a year now.

"Hey, you okay?" Some of Heero's shock must have shown, because Quatre's face took on a worried, slightly wary look, and the smaller boy slid down on the floor next to Heero.

"Hell if I know." Heero commented. "Considering you're the boy from my dreams."

"Excuse me?"

"If your hair was straighter and blond, you'd be a dead ringer for someone I've been seeing every night for ten months or so."

"Well, that's certainly odd." Quatre said thoughtfully. "Maybe we knew each other in a past life or something."

Wow, Q-chan's so sharp! I can't wait until my muse comes back and I can write the next chapter!


	4. Rediscovery

To DragonFlame Mistress- Is the pairing really that odd? I don't know why; they make a cute couple. And my stupid muse abandoned me. Tim McGraw is my inspiration for now, until something better comes along.

* * *

Chapter Four- Rediscovery

* * *

"Well, that's certainly odd." Quatre said thoughtfully. "Maybe we knew each other in a past life or something."

"There's no such thing as reincarnation." Heero said in the flat voice of a true disbeliever.

"Can you think of a better explanation?" Quatre countered, flipping back through his sketchbook for all the pictures he'd drawn of his dream man. "It's not as if people randomly dream about someone they've never met before all the time, you know."

Heero couldn't help it; the other boy had spoken so calmly, as if commenting on the weather, that he found it hilariously funny. He burst out laughing, something he didn't do often.

"What's so funny?" Quatre asked, blinking cluelessly, which only served to redouble Heero's mirth. "Seriously, what are you laughing at? What did I say?"

"You… you…" Heero gasped out helplessly, holding his side. "You… how… how can you… say that… with a straight… a straight face?" He managed finally.

"Say what with a- oh!" Understanding dawned on Quatre's face, then his expression became stern, tender, and exasperated all at once. "It's not that funny, Heero Yuy!" He exclaimed, mock-punching Heero in the shoulder before giving in to laughter himself.

Neither noticed the name Quatre had called his new friend; either didn't notice, or on some primal level accepted it as the truth. Whichever it was, the moment swallowed it and neither could recall exactly what had been said in later years.

* * *

A Few Hours Later

* * *

"Hey, call me, okay?" Quatre called from the open window of the car as it pulled away from Heero's small shack, waving through the rear windshield until his new friend disappeared from sight.

"Quatre." His mother said, calling her son's attention to her. Belinda Winner Adams was a harried blond woman who looked ten years older than she actually was, with dull green eyes and a delicate brow etched with faint worry lines. She was overprotective of her only child, and did her best to raise him properly.

"Yes, Mother?" Quatre asked, frowning a little at the slight edge of steel in his mother's usually gentle voice.

"Did you give that boy your number?"

"Yes, Mother." Quatre answered dutifully, wondering why she sounded so harsh. "My private line."

"I don't want you associating with that boy, am I understood?" Belinda said flatly, staring straight ahead. "He's no good for you."

"W-what?" Quatre asked, sure he must have misheard. Belinda encouraged him to make friends from all over Earth and the colonies; she was always telling him that being around boys his own age was much better for him than spending time with his uncles. Surely she couldn't be denying him the friend she wanted him so desperately to have!

"Stay away from him, Quatre." She warned, the edge of steel sharpening. "He'll ruin you exactly the way the other one ruined your uncle. I saw it in his eyes; make no mistake, he'll use you, then leave you high and dry. As the next head of the Winner Corporation, you can't be influenced by street rats like that." Belinda's hands gripped the edge of her purse so hard, the bones showed yellow through her flawless tan.

"But Mother-" Quatre started, but she interrupted him.

"Don't argue with me, young man!" She yelled, raising her hand to strike him. "I'll not have you turning disobedient and rash like your uncle!"

Quatre wanted to protest, but wisely kept to himself, staring moodily out the window the rest of the ride back to the hotel.

* * *

Two Days Later

* * *

Heero's phone rang, startling him into nearly dropping the kettle of hot water in his hand. No one ever called him; the only person who had his number was Quatre, and his mother had made it plain yesterday that the two were never going to speak again.

The small brunette reached over and flicked the screen on with his free hand, resuming his interrupted act of making tea.

"Hello?" He asked, not risking a glance over his shoulder while filling the mug on the counter.

"Heero? It's me, Quatre."

Heero almost dropped the kettle again and succeeded in knocking over his mug in the process of turning around.

"Quatre? Why are _you_ calling me?"

"If this is about what my mother told you, just ignore her. Aunt Emily understands; she says we can use her phone to talk. My mother's changed my private line and blocked your number, but Aunt Emily's older, so she won't dare tell her what to do. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Heero said, looking down at the puddle of water on the counter and floor. "I just upended my cup is all."

"Oh. Was it my fault? Sorry."

Before Heero could reply, a middle-aged brunette with short, shaggy hair and sparkling green eyes appeared behind Quatre, draping her arms over his shoulders.

"Is that him?" She asked cheerfully, smiling. "He's cute! Are you sure he's only fourteen? No chance he's older?"

"He's really fourteen, Aunt Emily." Quatre said with a small sigh. "Aunt Emily, I'd like you to meet Heero Ookami. Heero, this is my Aunt Emily."

"Hi, cutie!" Emily said, her smile widening into a grin. "Even if you are fourteen, I don't mind younger men! Come keep me company in my old age!" A clock chimed in the background, and Emily stood up, waving to the screen. "That's my cue. Time for me to go to work, boys. Don't stay on too long!"

Heero managed to keep from laughing until after the door had slammed behind Emily, not wanting to offend the woman.

"She's an… interesting woman." He said.

"Interesting is putting it mildly." Quatre replied, smiling. "We call her eccentric, but she's really just crazy. She's also married, so don't worry about her going to Earth and kidnapping you. Uncle Trowa won't let her."

"That's surprisingly comforting, considering I've never met this uncle of yours." Heero commented, taking a sip of his tea. "Although the name sounds oddly familiar."

"Uncle Trowa's nice; he'll keep Aunt Emily off you. And speaking of which," Quatre added, looking beyond the comm. screen. "Uncle Trowa, I'd like you to meet someone!"

A tall, thin man with medium brown hair swept over one emerald eye walked into view, a coffee mug in one hand and a book in the other.

"Finally making some friends?" The man asked with the barest hint of a small before turning to the screen.

* * *

"Heero…" Trowa gasped softly, staring transfixed at the ghost on the comm. screen in front of him. He didn't even blink when the mug of coffee he'd been holding smashed into the floor and shattered.

_It's not possible!_ His mind screamed at him. _Heero Yuy is dead! He can't be talking to Quatre! It's impossible!_

"How did you know my name?" The boy demanded, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Uncle Trowa, are you all right?" Quatre asked at the same time, jumping to his feet.

"I… I'm fine," Trowa managed, sounding shaky even to his own ears. "I have to call Duo. You two have fun."

The former Heavyarms pilot managed to make it to the room he shared with his wife without hurting himself and immediately grabbed his portable comm., which was programmed with Duo Maxwell's private number; a good thing, since Trowa doubted he was capable of punching in a number right now.

"Yello?" A sleepy voice asked around a huge yawn. "Maxwell/Chang residence, this is Duo speaking, how can I help you?"

"Duo, sit up." Trowa ordered. Instead, Wufei appeared in the comm. screen view, scowling at something on the floor. "Okay, Wufei works. You won't believe what I just saw."

"Oh, really?" Wufei countered, still scowling at the floor, where Duo had probably already gone back to sleep.

"Our nephew just introduced me to Heero."

* * *

_Sorry about this taking so long, but I totally ran dry on inspiration for this story! Please don't kill me!_


	5. Explanation

To Bunch–o-Nuts- Yes, having the other pilots wandering around does make it interesting. But you have to remember, the only people that we know for a fact died are Heero, Quatre, and Relena. There's no reason for the other ones to not be around.

To Romie- Oy. I totally forgot about that part… now I'm going to have to rationalize it… Okay. Wufei and Trowa got together, leaving Quatre to Heero. They both knew it wasn't really love, but they stayed together anyway, until Quatre died. Trowa met Emily at the funeral and immediately fell in love. Wufei let him go and moved in with Duo, since he didn't have anywhere better to go. Now Duo and Wufei are roommates – not lovers – and Trowa is married to a Winner woman. Wow… that was easier than I thought it would be!

* * *

"_What?_" Duo exclaimed, bolting upright and colliding with Wufei's elbow.

"Dammit, Maxwell-" Wufei started, rubbing his abused joint.

"Later, Wufei," Trowa interrupted quietly. "I swear, the kid our nephew was talking to looked almost exactly like Heero when we first met him."

"But… But that doesn't make any sense!" Duo protested. "Heero's dead!"

"That's what I thought. And here's the really weird part – his _name's_ Heero."

* * *

"What was that all about?" Heero asked curiously, arching one eyebrow at Quatre.

"I'm not sure…" Quatre answered, glancing worriedly at the staircase. "Uncle Trowa never acts like this. He's usually so calm."

"Well, he definitely wasn't calm just now. Look, Quatre, I have to get to work now, and I won't be home until 2100, my time. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay." Quatre said with a sincere smile. "Bye."

The two boys hung up, and Quatre immediately headed for his uncle's room, intent on making sure the man was really okay.

"Uncle Trowa?" He called, knocking on the bedroom door. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Came the faint reply, and he eased the door open, poking his head inside.

"Did you talk to Uncle Duo already?" Quatre asked, seeing that Trowa wasn't on the phone.

"Yes, I did." Trowa said with one of his odd half-smiles he reserved for Quatre and Quatre alone. "I'm sorry about the way I acted in front of your friend. I was very surprised."

"Why?" Quatre asked, closing the door and running over to jump on the bed. "How did you know Heero's name?"

"It's a long story, Quatre, and Duo, Wufei, and I have decided it's one you need to know." The brunette turned so that he was leaning against the headboard and patted the mattress next to him. "Come and sit; I have something to show you."

Quatre obliged, settling down next to his uncle and leaning against the man, looking forward to whatever Trowa had to show him. When his uncles told him stories, they were always worth listening to. Especially Uncle Trowa's.

* * *

Trowa glanced down at his nephew, nestled against him and eagerly anticipating a good story, and began having second thoughts. Was it really such a good idea to tell him about the first Quatre? Could the boy handle it? Was it right to keep it from him?

But really, there was no backing out now, so Trowa reached into the top drawer of his nightstand and withdrew and old, battered photo album.

"Back when I was your age, I fought in a war, right?" He began, pausing for Quatre to confirm before continuing. "Although I fought primarily alone, there were four people I considered my teammates for much of the war." He flipped open the photo album to the first picture; Duo, posing in front of his scrapyard and grinning like a maniac. "Duo Maxwell," The next picture was of Wufei scowling at the camera over a book, glasses sliding down his nose, hair down, and a disembodied hand giving him bunny ears. "Chang Wufei," Next, Quatre Reberba Winner in a pair of swim trunks on a real, honest-to-goodness, beach in Old New York, smiling gently. "Quatre Winner, who you were named for," After a moment's hesitation, he flipped to what was probably the only picture of his last comrade taken with his consent. "And Heero Yuy."

"Heero!" Quatre gasped, almost snatching the album from his uncle. "But… but Heero's not old enough to have fought in the war!"

"It goes further than just age, Quatre." Trowa assured him, pulling an old newspaper printout from near the back of the album. "You see, the day before you were born, Quatre and Heero both died." He unfolded the sheet of paper, revealing two pictures and a small box that read _photograph unavailable_, followed by a short article.

"I know that woman!" Quatre exclaimed, pointing at the portrait of Relena Dorlian-Peacecraft at the top of the column. "She was in my dream!"

"She was what?"

"I had a nightmare once a few months ago. I was in a room with that woman, only I was about her age, and we were talking, and then she… she shot me…" The boy trailed off, looking up at Trowa with wide sea-green eyes. "I-is that what happened to my uncle Quatre?" He asked, his voice quavering a little.

"Yes."

* * *

Later that night, after seeing Quatre safely home, Trowa and Emily were sitting on the couch in the living room, reading together. Emily had planted herself firmly in her husband's lap and was holding the book, turning pages at his direction. She was concentrating for all she was worth, trying to decipher the French in front of her, when the phone rang, scaring her witless.

"Yipe!" She yiped, almost dropping the book. "Who could be calling at this hour? I swear, if it's another telemarketer, I'm flipping them off." She threatened, standing and stalking to the phone in the hall. "Hello?" She snapped, flipping the screen on.

"Hello."

"Oh, hey, Cutie! Quatre went home already. He'll be back tomorrow, if you want me to give him a message."

"I'm not calling for Quatre; I want to speak to his uncle. Trowa."

"Oh." Emily said, sounding slightly disappointed. "Trowa, honey, it's for you!"

"Who is it?" Trowa asked, pretending not to have recognized Heero's voice.

"It's Quatre's little friend. Did you know he made a friend? Why would he want to talk to you, though?"

"I might have an idea." Trowa said quietly. "Why don't you go get ready for bed? I should be up soon."

"Okay!" Emily said brightly, planting a fond kiss on her husband's cheek before making for the stairs and her nightly shower.

Trowa watched her go, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, before turning to the ghost on the screen. "I suppose you want to know how I knew your name?"

"Smart man." Heero said, sounding as if he meant it. "Care to explain?"

Trowa sighed and snagged a handy chair, seating himself. "You might want to sit down, kid; this could be a bit hard to swallow."

* * *

"You're all crazy." Heero stated flatly. "There's no way I can be the reincarnation of your war buddy. It's not possible."

"Give me one good reason why not." Quatre uncle's countered, definitely having the upper hand here.

"I…"

"Look, Quatre dreamt about something a while back that he couldn't possibly know about unless he really is the reincarnation of his uncle. The dreams he's been having, the pictures, the tidbit of information, it all fits. You're smart enough to see that, so how about letting go of your personal beliefs for the moment and looking at this objectively?"

If he could have, Heero would have gone through the phone and smacked the man. He was so damned rational about this whole thing, and it was pissing the teen off.

"Fine. Just suppose I _am_ the reincarnation of this Heero Yuy. What about it?"

"Nothing, really; that's just how I knew your name. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. Have a good night, Heero."

Trowa hung up and the screen blacked on Heero's end, leaving him with the unshakable conviction that the entire world had gone crazy.

* * *

_Short, yes, but at least it's something. Review, tell me what you think, I'll start on the next chapter, blah, blah, blah, you know the drill._


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